


Willing Target

by shadowsapiens



Category: Critical Role Campaign 1
Genre: AU where Delilah notices the magic earrings, Blood As Lube, Gags, M/M, Mild Wound Play, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rough Sex, Vampires, Vax fails a few saves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 08:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21472771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsapiens/pseuds/shadowsapiens
Summary: Vax knows it’s gone to shit the moment he steps in the room. He knows it’s really gone to shit when his muscles lock up and Sylas Briarwood’s heavy hand clamps around his shoulder.He knows it’s really,reallygone to shit when Delilah Briarwood tilts her elegantly coiffed head and says, “Wait, my love. His earring.”
Relationships: Brief Delilah Briarwood/Sylas Briarwood, Sylas Briarwood/Vax'ildan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 153
Collections: Naughty List 2019





	Willing Target

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plutonianshores](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/gifts).

> Thanks for the inspiring request, plutonianshores! I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Thanks also to the 5e Monster Manual, for serving as reference ;)
> 
> * * *
> 
> _The charmed target regards the vampire as a trusted friend to be heeded and protected. Although the target isn't under the vampire's control, it takes the vampire's requests or actions in the most favorable way it can, and it is a willing target for the vampire's bite attack_.
> 
> _Each time the vampire or the vampire's companions do anything harmful to the target, it can repeat the saving throw, ending the effect on itself on a success_.
> 
> * * *

Vax knows it’s gone to shit the moment he steps in the room. He knows it’s really gone to shit when his muscles lock up and Sylas Briarwood’s heavy hand clamps around his shoulder.

He knows it’s really, _really_ gone to shit when Delilah Briarwood tilts her elegantly coiffed head and says, “Wait, my love. His earring.”

Fear shoots ice-cold down his spine. His throat spasms, but he can’t talk. He can only stand there, hyperaware of Lord Briarwood’s hand at his throat, gently tilting his chin up. Blunt, cold fingers brush the hair back from his ear.

“Well-spotted, my dear,” Lord Briarwood says, not turning from his examination. “He smells so sweet, I might have missed that in my distraction.” His voice is heavy with amusement. He turns Vax’s head again, so Vax has no choice but to look into his dark eyes. There’s an inhuman glint of hunger.

Vax is tall for a half-elf, but right now, against Lord Briarwood’s broad, immovable bulk, he feels very small, and very alone.

Lady Briarwood steps forward, seeming not to care that her husband’s attentions are clearly straying elsewhere. “A rather curious item,” she says lightly. “I haven’t seen a communication spell quite like it—before dinner tonight, at least.”

Vax strains against her spell, but his cry for help dies in his throat. That moment of panic is enough to lower his defenses. When Lord Briarwood’s touch softens to a caress, when he murmurs, “What a poor, pretty bird,” Vax feels the magic shiver all through him, and can’t resist.

“See, Vax’ildan?” Sylas says, rubbing his thumb along Vax’s lower lip. “I think you can be a very good friend to us.”

Yes. Yes. Vax knows he’s right. He’d say so if he could move, which—he remembers being scared of that. But now he knows that Lord Briarwood is his friend, so the holding spell must be for his own good. He never told them his name, but it’s fine that they know.

Lord Briarwood smiles. Lady Briarwood smiles. Vax knows this is going to be okay.

“How lovely,” Lady Briarwood says. She’s beautiful in the candlelight. “I will lift my spell, and when I do, you must use that pretty earring to relay a message.” She doesn’t wait for Vax’s acquiescence. She doesn’t need to. “Tell your companions that you have left the palace, and you have an errand to run. You will meet them in two hours at your—Greyskull Keep, yes.”

Gesture. Words. The holding spell falls, and Vax sways with the sudden release. He would have fallen if not for Lord Briarwood’s strong arms at his waist, steadying him. He lets himself lean against the man’s chest, grateful for the support. The fur crest over his shoulder tickles Vax’s nose. He reaches towards his earring and asks, “Anything else, my lord?”

His voice is rough, but his own. The Briarwoods don’t say anything about the dropped guardsman accent; Lord Briarwood just strokes his side and says, “They must not know anything is amiss.”

The word _jenga_ echoes through Vax’s mind, but doesn’t reach his lips. He coughs and touches his earring. “Hey, it’s me.”

There’s a pause, then Vex starts to say something, but he can’t let himself think about her. He raises his voice. “Yeah, quiet, I’m out already. You all should get out quick. No dilly-dallying.” He’s dizzy a moment. They’re family. Shouldn’t he want them here? But Lord Briarwood’s hand is so soothing on his back, and he remembers that this is best. “I’ve just got an errand to run—heard something interesting. I’ll meet you at the keep in two hours.”

Keyleth’s voice, and Percy’s. Vax can’t answer Percy of all people right now, not with Lord Briarwood fucking petting him, so he bites out, “Stop yammering. Two hours, yeah?”

Lord Briarwood steps away a moment, and Lady Briarwood’s slender gloved fingers touch his ear. Vax holds perfectly still and doesn’t even think of running as she gently removes the earring. He watches, oddly blank inside, like there’s an emotion he should be feeling but can’t, as she crosses the room again and tucks the earring in a box with the rest of her jewelry. 

“There,” she says brightly. “Now we can speak more privately.”

A thundering at the door puts her words to lie.

Lord Briarwood takes Vax’s arm again, his hand heavy as a manacle above his elbow, and he says, “Would you mind if I stayed in, dear?”

She smiles and steps towards them. Her eyes are only for her husband, and Vax feels like she doesn’t even see him as a person as she leans in between them, gloved hand delicately placed on her husband’s chest. “Of course, my love, you must be famished. You haven’t eaten all day. I’ll take care of the guards, and then I believe I have a date with Seeker Assum.”

They don’t kiss, but the look they share is so heated, it feels like they do. Vax tries to back away, but Lord Briarwood’s hand is too tight on his arm.

In a moment, Lady Briarwood is gone. Her final, “Enjoy yourself, darling,” rings through the room.

“So, um.” Vax has no idea what he should be more concerned about. Why would Lord Briarwood be hungry, when he was just at the feast? What business could Lady Briarwood have with Seeker Assum? What right has Vax to question his new friends?

Can he get his earring back—even through his confusion, he wants his earring back—

Lord Briarwood places a long, cold finger against his open lips. “Quiet, boy. We can talk after dinner.”

His other hand falls to Vax’s waist and pulls him close. Vax has enough time to ask, “Is that some sort of innuendo, or—” before Lord Briarwood leans down and covers his lips with his. 

The kiss is cold. Overwhelming. Lord Briarwood barely even moves against him, but Vax feels the pressure with his whole body. A whimper rises from his throat, so pathetic it doesn’t even sound like him, and he leans in, eager for more.

Lord Briarwood pulls away, chuckling. “No innuendo. But I’ll take that from you too.”

He lets go of Vax completely, leaving him unsteady by the door, and crosses the room. He shrugs off his fur and jacket, leaving it on a table, and begins unfastening his cufflinks. Vax can’t look away from the slow, deliberate movements. Can’t stop remembering how those strong, cold hand felt around his waist. His throat.

Lord Briarwood sits on the edge of the bed, rolling up his sleeves, and says, “Come here, boy.”

Vax moves before he can think otherwise. He doesn’t know what Lord Briarwood wants—not exactly—but he trusts him. He wants to make him happy. He isn’t sure why—it’s fuzzy—this is supposed to be an investigation, not—but he trusts him.

He crosses the red rug, and then his bootheels click on wood again, and he stands in front of Lord Briarwood. Even standing over him, he feels small. There’s something about the man’s presence, a seductive brutality behind his cultured appearance. Vax can’t turn away from it. Can’t resist. Doesn’t want to.

“How sweet. You’re trembling.” Lord Briarwood smiles, wide and slow. His teeth are too sharp. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

Trust. Vax doesn’t have much experience with trust, but that has to be what this is. The numb obedience softening his limbs, urging him to follow along as Lord Briarwood pulls him down, onto his lap. He straddles Lord Briarwood’s broad thighs, his knees sinking into the soft bed, and his hands fall naturally to Lord Briarwood’s shoulders. 

“I assume this is your first time,” Lord Briarwood muses. His heavy hands skim up and down Vax’s thighs.

Vax’s breath hitches. “I’m no blushing maiden, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Lord Briarwood’s low, rich laugh rumbles through Vax’s body, quickening his pulse. “It isn’t.” One broad hand finally lands on Vax’s hip, tugging him closer. Heat pools through Vax’s body, even though Lord Briarwood is so cold beneath him. His other hand rises to run softly through Vax’s hair. “No, boy, I would sense if anyone else had tasted you.”

Tasted. Vax’s mind stutters on the word. Then Lord Briarwood’s hand twists painfully in his hair, jerking his head to the side—he gasps. For one clear moment thinks, Fuck, I have to get out—

Pain in his neck. Blossoming heat. Beautiful fire washing away the little hurts, the brief moment of clarity, everything except Sylas Briarwood’s mouth on his neck, teeth sinking into his skin. Vax whimpers again, too entranced to be ashamed of it, and clutches Lord Briarwood’s shoulders as his blood pours from his body.

He has no idea how long it takes. The bite feels slow, leisurely. Vax feels every tiny movement. Cool lips brushing the edge of the wound. The press of Lord Briarwood’s tongue. The drag and suction, the pull through his every vein. His heart beats faster and faster, like he’s trying to give as much of his blood as he can. All he wants is to make Lord Briarwood happy.

The teeth withdraw, and it hurts a bit, until Lord Briarwood seals his mouth over the wound in a perverse kiss, tongue dipping into Vax’s flesh. Pain sparks over his skin. Cold and heat sweep through him in waves. He can’t think. He moans, head spinning, and realizes he’s hard. Lord Briarwood hasn’t even touched him there, but he’s hard. 

Lord Briarwood’s hand is gentle in his hair now. Vax isn’t going to run. He knows Lord Briarwood needs this. He knows _he_ needs this, needs to give as much as Lord Briarwood will take. 

Long, wet press of tongue, then cold air on his neck. Vax shivers as Lord Briarwood pulls away. His vision blurs, and he can barely see Lord Briarwood in front of him now. Just a pale sketch of a face, lips painted red. There’s a dark-blurred moment and then Vax tastes his own blood, his own life as Lord Briarwood kisses him again. He feels warmer this time, or Vax is just colder. Vax isn’t sure he likes it. 

Lord Briarwood pulls away and murmurs, “There’s darkness in you, boy.”

Vax doesn’t know what he means. He slumps forward, forehead pressed against Lord Briarwood’s shoulder, and this at least is familiar: he’s about to pass out.

“I can taste the shadow in your soul.” He nearly sounds fond. “I think you were born to serve the night.”

Vax clings to consciousness, barely, as Lord Briarwood moves him onto the bed. Arranges his limbs. Vax worries briefly that he’ll get blood on the fancy pillowcase, but then he’s distracted by his arms lifting up and something tightening around his wrists. 

A thumb against his lips. He opens his mouth willingly, then jerks wider awake as Lord Briarwood shoves a wad of fabric into his mouth. Dry, uncomfortable—this is wrong—this is really wrong, he thinks hazily, as Lord Briarwood lifts his head. Wraps another length of soft fabric over his lips, and ties it behind his head.

Lord Briarwood kneels at his side, the weight of him making the bed dip down. His long fingers trace Vax’s lips through the cloth. “I do like you quiet, boy.”

He touches lower. The wound on Vax’s neck. Over Vax’s stuttering heart. His trembling stomach. He reaches the laces of Vax’s breeches and that’s when the nervous whisper in the back of Vax’s mind turns to a full-throated scream.

The charm breaks like shattering glass.

He remembers that Lord Sylas Briarwood is not his friend. The numbness in his heart isn’t trust; it’s terror and blood loss. He freezes in shock, then starts to struggle.

He kicks out, twisting away, but Lord Briarwood is impossibly strong. The cold strength that two minutes ago felt comforting, reassuring, now holds him to the bed. Vax yanks at his arms, but they’re tied tight to the headboard. His heart thuds. Panic rushes through his ears. Even if he could slip the ties, even if he could push Lord Briarwood off, he’s so weak. He doesn’t know if he could make it to the door.

Lord Briarwood laughs. There’s something darker in his voice now. A veneer of refinement falling away. He flips him onto his stomach like he’s tossing a ragdoll. Vax can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he turns his face for air and he still can’t breathe, his lungs too tight, his body too slow. Lord Briarwood yanks his breeches down past his ass, to his knees. The fine silk bedding feels coarse against his skin. He smells blood.

Lord Briarwood leans over him, so heavy Vax thinks he might suffocate. Says rough and low in his ear, “Feel free to keep struggling. You’re only hurting yourself.”

He fingers the bite mark again. Without the charm, the touch blazes pain; Vax screams, his throat raw. Through the gag, it’s barely louder than a whimper. Lord Briarwood kisses the back of his neck, and withdraws his hand.

Then warm, wet fingers press between them, in the cleft of Vax’s ass. He yells again, painfully, uselessly, as Lord Briarwood works him open, using his own blood to ease the way. He’s never hurt like this before. He’s no stranger to sex and no stranger to pain, but this is horribly new. His every nerve is raw, his every muscle helpless. He can’t even struggle anymore; he tries to kick, but the thought can’t reach his exhausted limbs. 

Two hours, Vax thinks hazily, as blunt fingers work into him. Two hours, and his family will know something’s wrong. He just—another finger, fuck, it hurts—has to hold on until—

The fingers are gone. There’s a rustling of fabric. Then Lord Briarwood spreads him open and Vax wishes he was still charmed, wishes he still wanted this, because then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.

Lord Briarwood’s cock feels massive shoving into him, and the blood’s not nearly enough to make it better. He moves slowly, horribly slowly, drawing out the impalement, until Vax is trembling all over, eyes stinging with the pain. 

Lord Briarwood says something, but Vax can’t hear it past the ringing in his ears. He flinches as tender lips press threateningly against his shoulder, the edge of teeth palpable even through his leathers, and then arches in pain as Lord Briarwood draws out. Slowly again, dragging agony through Vax’s tender flesh, slowly enough that Vax can try to breathe deep through his nose, try to relax, try to make this hurt less.

He can’t. He can’t. He tries to let go of his body and Lord Briarwood slams into him, dragging him back to sensation. Done with the foreplay, then, Vax thinks inanely, as Lord Briarwood’s cultured voice drops to a snarl, as Lord Briarwood’s cock plunges brutally into his ass, again and again. His body stings with pain, inside and out.

He can’t see anything. His face is half-pressed against the silk pillow, half-pressed against his bound arm. But he pictures in his mind Lady Briarwood’s jewelry box. Dark velvet, gold hinges. The earring. He needs the earring, and then he needs to run as far as he can, and hope his family hears him.

Another growl he doesn’t understand, and then Lord Briarwood shoves harder in and seals his mouth against Vax’s neck. His blood pulls from his veins, and this time, it doesn’t feel good at all. Vax whimpers, the sound lost behind the gag, as the movement finally stops.

The air quiets. The only sound is his own wild breathing, his own heart pounding against his ribs. His whole body’s on fire, except the cold in his veins. His vision blurs. His heart stutters. He pictures the jewelry box.

He floats, somewhere beyond pain, as Lord Briarwood releases his neck, then slides from his body. There’s wetness against his thighs, more than sweat and come. Vax wonders if the blood is still from his neck, or if Lord Briarwood tore him open again without him realizing. Wet lips press to the back of his neck, then the bed dips, and the weight is gone. 

“My apologies, pet,” Lord Briarwood’s voice echoes, as if from a distance. “I believe my wife needs me in the courtyard. I’ll be but a moment.”

As if from a distance, but his hand is right there, stroking tenderly down Vax’s spine. Vax feels the touch intensely, lingering long after the hand is gone. Long after the shifting of fabric and clinking of metal. The whisper of a door opening, then closing.

He’s alone.

Vax struggles to his knees, then collapses—pain sears up his spine. He fights for consciousness. Pictures the jewelry box. Pushes forward gingerly, carefully, enough to get some slack in the bindings around his wrists.

He’s gotten one wrist free when he hears the explosion from downstairs.


End file.
